The Puir Laddie Who Lived
by fojee
Summary: HPDiscworld crossover, AU. The wee free men are good with doors. So what happens if they find a doorway that led them straight to Godric's Hollow that Halloween night ten years ago?
1. Prologue

Title: The Puir Laddie Who Lived

Author: Fojee aka Punk Bandit

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Severus Snape belong to J.K. Rowling while Tiffany Aching and the Nac mac Feegle belong to Terry Pratchett. I own nothing. No baby rabbits were harmed in the writing of this fic. Or three-headed dogs.

Warnings: Set after "A Hat Full of Sky" in the Discworld, and an AU in the Harry Potter universe. May allude to other books from the Discworld—especially the witches—and all the books in Harry Potter, particularly the third and fifth. It also mostly ignores "Wintersmith." This may be considered pre-slash (or pre-het) if you squint really hard, although the pairings I've left to whichever you desire, except that Ginny's not in it.

A/N: I haven't read "The Sorcerer's Stone" in a while, so this is a reworking of Book One from memory. Also, this will _not_ have a sequel, as I've tried to kill off all the bad guys in one fell swoop. This story exists thanks to my beta reader, cheerleader, and younger sister Gide Thomas.

Prologue

Rob Anybody was bored. It had been a couple of moons since the adventure with the hiver and the wee hag, and he was getting restless. Not even the little ones could hold his attention for long. Nac mac Feegle were independent creatures, even the ones who were barely old enough to walk. He was hesitant to bring up the idea to the kelda however, knowing she was a wee bit touchy these days.

After weeks of hawing and hemming about it however, Jeannie sighed before demanding to know what's wrong.

"Me an' the laddies were plannin' on takin' a wee trip," Rob announced with his customary bluster.

Jeannie's eyes narrowed. "Yer gonna visit the hag again, are ye?"

Rob shook his head furiously. "Nae, Jeannie. It's jus' that Hamish found oot a doorway near the Aching cottage. We wanta ken where it goes."

It only took three lectures before Jeannie agreed.

888

Halloween was particularly unusual that year. Several would remember the missing things even years later, the mysterious disappearances of the scotch in the pantry, the vodka inside the cabinets, and the bottles of wine in the cellar. A little girl remembered the disappearance of all her twenty-three baby rabbits. Her parents were just relieved.

But none of them remembered the green skull that lit up the sky, nor the wreckage of a house that collapsed in the middle of the night. As far as they were concerned, Godric's Hollow had always been a ruin. And nobody had lived there since forever.

The bottles and baby rabbits weren't the only disappearance that night. By the time a half-giant arrived at the ruins, there was no sign of life to be found amidst the rubble. And the small family of James, Lily, and Harry Potter was assumed to have perished.

The Dark Lord had vanished. But they had no hero to award. The war was over. But it took them months to notice. Nobody connected it to the attack at Godric's Hollow. All they knew was that Sirius Black had finally shown his true colors, and had blasted thirteen muggles along with Peter Pettigrew. That was the last documented Death Eater attack. The years of uneasy peace ensued.

888

Tiffany Aching opened the door of the cottage. She blinked down at the six inch high blue creature on her doorstep. Rob Anybody looked up sheepishly, but Tiffany didn't see his expression. The baby he was carrying covered his entire face, until only the tips of his red hair showed.

Tiffany found herself accepting the baby in her arms. The kid was sleeping, his black hair in messy tufts on his head. There was a scar on his forehead shaped like a lightning bolt.

"Rob Anybody, what is this all about?" She demanded as soon as she recognized the blue man.

Rob shrugged. "Me an' the laddies found 'im somewhere. But Jeannie couldna look after a bigjob, even a wee little one. So I thought the puir lad would do well with yer."

"Oh no you don't," Tiffany glared down over the bundle in her arms, "I can't go and bring up a baby! I'm not old enough!"

"Yer a hag, aren't ye? Hags are good wi' the little ones."

Tiffany just looked down at the baby. His eyes had opened; they were a vivid green that seemed to see right through her. She didn't know what to say.

And that was how Tiffany Aching ended up raising Harry Potter on the world that sat on the backs of four elephants atop a giant turtle that flew through space.


	2. Chapter 1

Title: The Puir Laddie Who Lived

Author: Fojee aka Punk Bandit

Chapter 1

Harry was more or less eleven years old when the door in the tree beside Granny Aching's house opened again. A bedraggled brown owl flew through it, carrying a single letter.

It was addressed to Harry Potter, The Second Bedroom, Mistress Aching's Cottage. The owl circled the Chalk uncertainly before slowing down near a small cottage. It flew inside a window and dropped the letter on the table in front of a small boy before falling down in a faint.

The boy didn't look at all surprised. He was used to seeing strange things. He placed the sleeping owl gently on his bed, and afterwards, with an uncommon degree of solemnity, he opened the letter and began to read. His eyes opened just a tiny bit wider, before he ran out to get Mistress Aching.

Tiffany Aching was a respected witch at the Chalk. She cured ailments of both sheep and humans, and still had time to make the best cheese and butter in all the land. She had her own place now. The Baron made sure it was to her liking. He still gave her gifts all the time, but so did the others. They knew how to treat a witch. They _learned._ Tiffany taught them.

There had been whispers about the boy she took in when she was twelve. But as he grew up, he looked sufficiently unlike her that they soon stopped whispering. Besides, who knew when the witch was listening? Mostly they just wagged their eyebrows a lot in the boy's direction.

Harry noticed all these. He noticed many things but rarely spoke of them. Mistress Aching had told him all about how he was found. And the Nac mac Feegle could add little to the tale. Rob Anybody just told him that his real parents were dead.

It had never bothered Harry that he never knew them. His life was not especially easy or hard, but he was content with it. He helped Mistress Aching with her duties in the villages. He wasn't allowed to see the women give birth, but he was often present in the sickrooms, washcloth and herb pastes in hand, and he saw enough lambs enter this world through a mysterious opening in their mothers' woolly bodies. He milked the cows and the goats, cured meat and made herbal poultices, held sheep for the shearing and churned butter. He didn't have time to miss having had parents. Mistress Aching and occasional visits from Granny Weatherwax and her coven, and the wee free men were more than enough, as far as he was concerned.

Tiffany noticed Harry heading in her direction so she stopped her milking. He was clutching something in his fist. She looked him over critically. She always worried how the boy will turn out after being raised by witches and six inch high pictsies, but he looked sturdy enough and had thankfully not repeated most of what he had heard from his blue babysitters. There was always plenty to eat, especially since the butcher had taken to dropping off a side of beef every few weeks, after she managed to save his son and wife at the birthing. As for whether Harry was happy or not, she didn't have a clue. She blamed it on herself; the boy was too good at hiding what he was thinking. And she didn't want to try headology on him, even though she was getting quite good at it.

Harry just handed her a letter. "An owl brought it," he said as if it happened every day. "Do you reckon it's a joke?"

Tiffany read through the letter for a minute before slowly replying. "There is no Hogwarts Academy in all of the Discworld. But no," she looked up straight into his eyes, "this isn't a joke."

888

_I'm from another dimension?_ The fact that he was a wizard wasn't really surprising, although Harry wondered if he was the eighth son, or if that only applied to the Disc. Magic had been used around him ever since he was young. It didn't seem too difficult, though he never tried it himself. But Harry Potter looked up at the sky and down at the ground under his feet. This world had not been especially friendly to him, but it was all that he knew. How could he leave it for a completely different universe?

Tiffany had called an emergency meeting in her cottage. She opened a bottle of Special Sheep Liniment for the dozens of blue men scattered around the house while they waited for Granny Weatherwax to arrive.

There was a loud blast outside as a broomstick stalled. Still, Granny Weatherwax managed to land gently on the grass, her sharp glare looking around daring anyone to comment.

No one did. Witches had no leader. They all worked together in mutual respect. Granny Weatherwax, however, was the most respected of them all.

Tiffany came out to greet her, head inclining in acknowledgement. "I have tea," she beckoned. Lately, she was finding that she said a lot more by saying as little as possible. They went inside her cottage, where Harry sat waiting by the stove. The Nac mac Feegle were busy drinking, but they stopped to call out a greeting to the hag.

Harry smiled at Granny Weatherwax nervously. She always made him nervous. She was sharper than Tiffany, and didn't seem to like him at all. Tiffany, on the other hand, was never affectionate but never harsh either. Between the two of them, Harry had a healthy respect for women particularly the old ones.

"Let me see the letter," Granny Weatherwax spoke without preamble. Harry handed the much creased parchment over.

Headmaster Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

_Deputy Headmistress_

Granny frowned as she scanned the letter. "I'm not sure you should go at all, actually," she said, looking straight into Harry's green eyes. "It sounds just like the Unseen University, all pomp and glitter. You would learn more here with young Tiffany. And these things you need to have come September, they sound like hogwash to me."

"I agree with Granny Weatherwax about the letter," Tiffany said after a pause, "_But_ I also believe that you need to return to where you come from. Else, you'll always wonder about it. Do you want to go?"

Harry looked down at his hands. "It might be interesting." He sounded reluctant to offer an opinion. "Anyway, the letter said it's a school of witchcraft and wizardry, so it might be different than the UU."

Granny sniffed. "Of course. It might be worse. Young men and women studying together... think of all the mischief they could get into. You will have none of that, won't you, young man." Granny shot a pointed look at Harry. It was less a question and more an admonishment.

Harry blushed. "I'm only ten," he half-heartedly protested, "or eleven for that matter."

"But we don't know how long an education may take in your world," Tiffany countered reasonably. "We don't know much of anything about it, actually," the witch's eyes widened as she turned towards the quietly slurping Nac mac Feegle. "But I know who does."

Rob shrugged uncomfortably under everyone's gaze, fighting the instinctive need to take cover. "There're a lot o' weird con-trap-shuns oot there. Their drinks are piss. The ground's solid even though one of t'lads saw in a picture that it's supposed to be round. And we found t'laddie after his house went kablooey. Then we saw bigjobs in black cloaks run awa. They disappeared."

"Disappeared?" Tiffany's brow furrowed.

"There was a pop and they were gone," Rob waved his hands about. The others nodded furiously. "But the bigjobs in the other houses, it's like they didn't even notice. They walked past it like nothing happened."

"A strange kind of magic," Granny looked far away deep in thought.

"It may be dangerous, then," Tiffany added with obvious concern.

"Oh but the puir laddie must go. He must dree his weird," Rob piped up in a solemn voice.

The two witches looked at each other for a second, while Harry tried not to fidget in his chair. It was weird listening to them decide his life. Going away to a school in another dimension suddenly seemed like a very attractive idea. One where, apparently, the world was round? How was that even possible? Didn't people fall off the other side? Maybe they had special boots.

"He'll go," they spoke in unison. "But," Tiffany raised a finger, "there will have to be a little reconnaissance trip to see the place."

"And," Granny turned to look at the suddenly sheepish blue men, "you will be our guide."

888

Tiffany couldn't go with them. The morning they were planning to leave, all four of the Mason children fell sick with hives. Tiffany had to stay to brew something for them, and keep them company. Harry was cautioned to obey Mistress Weatherwax in all things and to keep close at all times.

Rob Anybody waved farewell at his lovely Jeannie before jumping into the door in the tree along with several other young Nac mac Feegle desperate for a taste of adventure. Harry followed cautiously, and Granny Weatherwax stepped inside last of all.

They came out into a quiet forest beside a street lined with a gray, hard substance. Harry unconsciously moved closer to Granny as they watched a horseless wagon pass by emitting strange sounds and the smell of smoke.

Granny admitted to herself she had never seen such things in her life and it disturbed her to be at a complete loss. But she stood rigid, patting the boy on the head. "It's alright, boy. We just have to have a plan."

She called in the wandering wee free men, and instructed them to find books about this world, and clothes that they could wear to blend in. After the men left in blue blurs doing what they loved best, she sat down against another tree and sought an owl's form she could borrow. Harry stood watch beside her as her breathing slowed down. Somewhere out there, an owl hooted.

By the time she had surfaced, Harry had recognized all of the plants that grew around them, and the wee free men had slowly come back in small groups, their hands full. Harry eagerly reached for the books to ease his boredom. There were picture books, history books, encyclopedias and even story books with lurid covers that made Harry blush.

Tiffany would love to have every one of these. She had taught him his letters, and he felt the same way about words as she did. They were powerful.

"We 'ave books an' clothes an' food, mistress," Rob spoke respectfully to the old hag. "T'old house the lad came from is still all rubbly, but there's nae sign o' the magic that was there afore."

"Alright," Granny said in a croak, "We go there first. I think it's best to know exactly what happened to Harry's family."

They ate first, tasting the strange assortment of foodstuff warily. Granny changed into a blue dress with white flowers while Harry traded his rough linen shirt for a blue cotton one, and had to put on weird shoes that pinched his toes. Rob Anybody and the others remained in their kilts. Granny looked different out of her black robes, sort of older and softer, but a glare at all of them prevented any comments.

The ruins were a short walk away, past similar houses in similar colors. Harry stepped carefully over the ivy running over what was left of the walls and floors. Here and there, bits of picture frames, chair legs and doorknobs could be seen peeking under the vegetation. Harry leaned against one seemingly sturdy post. This was _home_ and yet it didn't really feel like it. Nothing was familiar.

Granny Weatherwax gestured with her hand. There was a sound, like a stricken chord on an invisible instrument vibrating through Harry's bones. Granny looked at the air intensely.

After several minutes, she shook her head. "Magic really is different here. It has been hidden, so it warped and became much stronger. Be careful, boy. Do not trust anyone unless you really have to."

Harry nodded, knowing that the words were important, even if he didn't know yet what they meant. "What happened?"

"Like Rob said, wizards in black cloaks killed your parents with wands and a green light, very foul magic, the magic of death. One of them tried to kill you, but failed. Your scar was the result." Granny's concern was obvious in her voice.

Harry touched the lightning bolt he had lived with all his life. "I wonder what it means."

"You'll have to find out. That's one reason why you need to study here. A true witch or wizard must know where he comes from and where he is going."

"So what now?"

"Don't worry. I know where we need to go."

So they walked. Harry was used to walking. And Granny didn't seem fazed by the distance, even though she usually rode by broomstick whenever it was too far. But they didn't know what kind of magic these people practiced so it was better to just get there on their own strength. The things she saw in the owl's mind were pretty muddled by an intense desire for owl treats and rats. But she did remember feeling a tug in a particular direction, a tug of magic. One thing was sure: the owls in this universe were much more intelligent than the ones back home.

The farther they got, the darker it became. The skies were matched by the ground; soon, there were no trees at all, nothing but tall grey buildings that weren't anything like either of them had ever seen. Even Ankh-Morpork, as crowded as this place, looked completely different. You always knew where you were, either because of a particular gargoyle on that corner, or a particular kind of cobblestone underfoot. Here, everything looked and felt the same. It was a good thing witches were never lost.

Harry was almost asleep on his feet. He found himself jerking awake after he'd been lifted by the Nac mac Feegle, who stood under his feet and carried him past the crowded buildings. Granny Weatherwax didn't seem sleepy, but she allowed the tiny men to do the same to her, and she glided forward with dignity, as if she were a queen being carried on a phalanx.

The passers-by thought they were skating. And if any of them supposed that it was unusual for an old woman to travel that way, or wondered where the actual skates were beneath their feet, one look in her steely gaze and they stopped wondering, or even thinking about her.

They were moving almost as fast as the swoop of the owl. Harry let the tiny men hold him up while he alternately dozed and gawked at the strange sights they were passing. Soon, the owl stopped on the roof of what looked to be a store. _The Leaky Cauldron_, a creaking sign pronounced. The owl nodded towards the entrance, which felt like the door in the tree. Did it lead to another world?

Harry gingerly stepped on the pavement, thanked Rob Anybody and the others politely, and entered the strange doorway at Granny Weatherwax's side.

As soon as they entered, Granny relaxed. The inside looked like an Ankh-Morpork pub, all darkness and tension and hard liquor. Of course, if you ask her, she'd never admit to the similarity; as far as she's concerned, she'd never been in one of those.

A quick look around, and she noticed that black seemed to be the garb of choice, which was sensible of them. Faces were hidden, and conversation made in low voices, which stopped as soon as they entered.

The bartender, a ruddy man with smiled patronizingly at the two strangers in muggle clothes. "Are ye lost, lady?"

Harry thought it prudent to step back a little as Granny Weatherwax's eyes narrowed dangerously. "No, we know _exactly_ where we are. Now if you would be so kind as to escort us to Hogwarts."

The bartender looked taken aback. With a small bow of apology, he replied, "Beg yer pardon, madam, but nobody can get to Hogwarts without invitation."

Granny held out her hand and Harry placed his letter into it. "My grandson has just received a letter to Hogwarts. But before I allow him to go, I'll have to see it for myself, won't I?"

Tom scratched his beard. "O'course, madam. But ye'd need to write t' the headmaster. If he agrees, he'll send ye a guide."

Granny nodded. "I assume you know where one could write this letter?"

Tom showed them to a brick wall, where he tapped a brick with a wand and it opened into a doorway. "This is Diagon Alley. You can buy the boy's supplies and equipment here. Just head for the Owl Post to write your letter to the headmaster. But you'd need money first. The bank over there, called Gringotts, changes all sorts of money into wizard ones."

Granny thanked him graciously, and Tom felt a wave of relief pass over him. She looked like a muggle at first, but she had some sort of power. Maybe she was a foreigner. Whatever she was, one thing was sure: she was _scary._


	3. Chapter 2

Title: The Puir Laddie Who Lived

Author: Fojee aka Punk Bandit

Chapter 2

Harry couldn't contain his excitement. Diagon Alley looked closer to back home than anything else he had seen. And he had never seen so many shops side by side, selling different things. It felt like one of those festivals Mistress Aching would tell him about.

They headed straight for the bank that the bartender had pointed out, where they emptied their pockets of money. The stolen muggle money fetched little; fortunately, the Nac mac Feegle had brought coins from their loot back home. After an explanation of the value of galleons and sickles and knuts from the strange and bad-tempered goblin at the desk, they went to the store marked Owl Post.

Dear Headmaster Dumbledore,

We request that you send a guide to meet us at The Leaky Cauldron and show us this school that you wish Harry Potter to attend. Given certain circumstances, we need the reassurance before we agree to let him do so. We await your reply.

Sincerely,

Mistress E. Weatherwax

Harry was surprised at the wording of the letter, but Granny whispered in his ear that pompous wizards respond better to pompous letters. Harry grinned at that, while watching a small brown owl carry the envelope tied on his leg.

"How about we buy the laddie his school things, mistress?" Rob Anybody asked Granny. He and his men had tried several times to steal things from the stores in the alley but they were somehow stopped by weird spells around the merchandise. Paying for things isn't as fun, but it will do. They had some interesting things here.

Harry got out his list and they looked at it together.

"Hogwash," Granny murmured, scanning the parchment. She approved of the books, although too much book-learning was bad for the mind. Magrat was proof of that. The cauldron and the scales seemed practical enough, and the robes. But this wand—what useless piece of frippery! At least a wizard's staff actually helped steady the old codgers with their weak knees and fat stomachs. A wand was for making wishes, and its power always tempted one to use it unnecessarily.

Being so, she rather wanted to see a store full of wands. So they headed that way first, asking a passer-by and being told that Ollivander's was the shop they needed to see. As they walked, she watched the boy watch everything. There were so many things to dazzle, but although Harry was obviously excited, he remained by her side, and looked at people more often than the things in the stores.

_Good,_ Granny thought. People were dangerous and needed watching most of all. And the way they dressed, talked and moved said a lot as to how things really were in this magical society. She frowned. This still felt wrong to her, all this magic bound in a single place. Shouldn't the rest of this world feel its lack?

They entered a small shop where dust motes danced in the air, and there was a faint scent of polish. Ollivander's, the sign had read. And indeed, there were shelves and shelves full of wands. Granny Weatherwax almost shuddered.

"Harry Potter! What a surprise." An old man appeared from behind the shelves. "So you have survived after all. Here to get your wand, are you?"

Harry's eyes had widened when his name was called. "Yes, sir."

A tape measure suddenly came to life, wrapping itself around his arm. Harry stood shock still, as if it were a snake. The old man with the round glasses had already turned around, rooting in boxes on the shelves.

"Here, try this." Again and again, Harry was handed a wand, and as soon as he touched it, it was taken away. "You're quite a picky one, eh?" The man seemed oddly pleased by it, as if he faced a challenge.

Finally the man stilled his frenetic searching and reached slowly for a different box. "I wonder—perhaps this one will do." He held out a wand and even before Harry could touch it, he knew it was something different.

Yellow and green sparks erupted from its tip as soon as Harry waved it in the air. It felt _right_ in Harry's hands. But when he looked up into Granny's stern face, he suddenly thought that it felt _too _right. Magic wasn't supposed to be easy. He placed the wand on a nearby table and fought the urge to rub his fingers against his trousers.

Granny paid for it without a word, ignoring the old man's muttered, "Curious," as he placed the wand inside a box and handed it to Harry.

They would have continued on to other shops but night had completely fallen, and they were all hungry. So they returned to The Leaky Cauldron to have dinner. Tom met them and greeted them more graciously. He had a letter in his hand, the headmaster's reply. Granny opened it as soon as they finished eating.

Mistress Weatherwax,

We would be pleased to extend to you an invitation to visit Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. If you could stay the night at The Leaky Cauldron, your guide will meet you there tomorrow at eight in the morning. I await your presence with excitement.

Yours truly,

Headmaster Albus Dumbledore

While Granny arranged two rooms for them, Harry looked around surreptitiously at the other diners in the pub. He couldn't see the wee free men, but he had left little saucers of liquor for them anyway, to the bartender's amusement. There were all sorts of people, different shapes and sizes, hidden by dark cloaks. There was a cackle from someone in the far corner, quickly hushed. Nobody was looking at everybody else. They all felt strange, with an overwhelming scent of power and an aura of danger.

Harry had been surrounded by powerful women all his life. But although Mistress Weatherwax always made the back of his neck prickle, magic had never felt like this back home. Were all witches and wizards here like this? How would an entire school of them feel like, then?

Despite his questions, sleep came to Harry with no trouble that night. He was weary, and did not even hear the murmurs of the Nac mac Feegle he shared his bed with. Rob Anybody was talking to his men, discussing what they've seen and heard. Nac mac Feegle were never known for their intelligence or their ability to plan ahead. But they took their responsibilities seriously. And as far as Rob was concerned, Harry was _his_ to protect, just like the hag was his, and the Chalk.

888

They were up by six and had had breakfast by seven. Armed with Harry's letter, Granny Weatherwax herded them all through Diagon Alley to buy the rest of supplies listed upon it. Harry had let the older witch lead him, and only allowed himself to linger in the bookstore called Flourish and Blotts.

Mistress Aching would have salivated over all those books. There were a few, however, that pulsed with magic, and none of them would come near those titles. But the ordinary books bound in plain leather still held its own extraordinary secrets. Harry could not resist buying a couple of them to read and to take home with him. But he waited for Granny's approval first. It was a good idea to read more about this world, though, so she nodded reluctantly and the books were added to a set of titles from the list: Felice Shadwell's _A Comprehensive Peek into the Ministry of Magic: A Clerk's Point-of-View_ and _The Muggle-Born's Guide to Wizarding Britain 6__th__ Edition_.

He didn't have time to scan either, however. A lumbering seven-foot tall man with a tangled black beard and arms the size of tree trunks met them near the entrance to the Alley, and introduced himself as Hagrid, the groundskeeper at the school. He carried with him a pink umbrella that didn't look big enough to cover his entire head.

"We 'ave permission to floo there, straight into the Headmaster's office," Hagrid explained as he pointed at a large fireplace inside The Leaky Cauldron. "Ye take a pinch of the stuff in that jar, throw it into the fire, an' when it turns green you can enter and say Hogwarts really loud. It can get a bit dusty, so close your mouth tight, and just jump out when you see the swirlin' stop."

Harry looked at the roaring fire uncertainly. It didn't sound very comfortable. But he did as told, getting a pinch of the black dust in the earthen jar, all the while feeling Rob Anybody climb his legs to ride inside his pocket. The rest sat on his shoulders or on top of his head. He threw it into the fire and stepped in.

888

Harry Potter was alive.

Albus Dumbledore shook his head. He had tried his best to piece together what happened at Godric's Hollow that one Halloween night ten years ago, but although the Dark Lord surely perished there, there was no sign that the boy had survived. Albus had thought him lost, his body turned to ash as Voldemort's body had been.

"And neither can live, while the other survives," Albus murmured, remembering the prophecy made several years ago. And yet there really was no surety that Harry was the one. He did not even know what kind of boy he had turned out, if he would accept the mantle of hero. Prophecies gained and lost power in the shifting mist of free will and fate.

He would just have to see.

His fireplace turned green and spat out a boy in a simple white shirt and trousers. There seemed to be something blue on his shoulders. Albus blinked, but they disappeared. Then an old woman with a stern face arrived next, followed by Hagrid.

"Welcome," Albus smiled at them, his magic briefly making his eyes twinkle. He noted that neither smiled back. In fact, the woman _frowned_ at him. The boy merely nodded back politely, his face expressionless. "I am Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts, and this is my office. Hagrid will show you the rest of the school. But may I offer you tea first?"

They accepted, much to his relief.

Granny Weatherwax introduced herself and Harry to this ancient wizard who looked like another product of the Unseen University. Hagrid shuffled into a large chair near the back of the room, obviously respectful. Granny sat gingerly, Harry at another chair beside her.

"It was quite a surprise, Mr. Potter, to learn that you are still alive. We did not know what have happened to you ten years ago."

The boy bit his lip and looked up to the old woman before answering, which Albus keenly noted. "I was saved, and brought to a different universe, Headmaster, where I grew up in peace. I'm afraid I know little of your world."

Albus eyes widened a little, before regaining their twinkle. "You are not alone in this, my boy. We've also invited students from non-magical families. To them, all of this is new."

The woman leaned forward. "So it is true, magic is hidden in this world?"

Albus wondered at her reaction. "Yes. There was an International Act of Wizarding Seclusion in 1692 following witch-hunts and persecution that have strained the relations between magic and non-magic users beyond repair. It was the only way we could survive."

Granny Weatherwax nodded. She had suspected as much. People have always feared magic. And when that fear becomes so unreasonable that it warps everything in their lives, it can rise up in retaliation. She had seen it happen to other witches, and had worked hard never to let it happen to her.

Harry spoke up in the silence that followed. "Did you know my parents, Headmaster Dumbledore?"

"Indeed my boy," Albus nodded, "They were my students several years ago. Lily and James Potter were both Gryffindors."

"Gryffindors?" Granny asked sharply.

"Students are sorted into four Houses: Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, which correspond to four dominant traits: courage, cunning, intelligence and loyalty. Your parents were very courageous, Harry. Did you know how they died?"

Harry shook his head, thinking it prudent not to say anything about what Granny Weatherwax's saw from the ruins of his childhood home.

"They were killed in a war against a Dark Lord," Albus said softly. Behind them, Harry could sense Hagrid shifting in his chair.

Granny's eyes sought the headmaster's. "Maybe this place is too dangerous, then, if there is such a war. I don't think this is the place for you, Harry," she turned towards the boy who merely nodded.

Albus had tried to see into the mind of this formidable woman in the brief moment of eye contact, but had found himself facing a solid wall. "Oh, but the war is over, madam, and the boy will be safe here at Hogwarts. And it is necessary that he learn to wield his magic; otherwise it will turn on him."

Granny internally winced, knowing the old man was right. She gave a sharp nod and stood up, with Harry following her lead. "I think I would like to see the grounds and meet the professors first before I decide. If that would be alright?" She tilted her head and narrowed her gaze at the old man behind the desk.

Albus stood up as well and nodded benevolently. "Of course. Most of the professors are away on vacation, but Hagrid could introduce you to Professor McGonagall, if you have any questions about the curriculum. Hagrid?"

The tall man stuttered a yes, and led them out the door down a circular stairway and into a hallway full of portraits and tapestries. Harry's composed mask fell as soon as he realized they were moving. There was _nothing_ like this back home. And although he could feel Granny's disapproval, he could do nothing but stare, back and forth, as men and women, old and young talked to each other, sliding into another frame, then back into their own.

Distantly, he could feel the whispers of the wee free men as they went off and explored on their own. This place seemed perfect for them. There seemed to be enough rooms and levels to keep their interest awhile.

Hagrid had relaxed as soon as they stepped out of the Headmaster's Office and had chuckled out loud at Harry's awe. "They're brilliant, aren't they? Hogwarts itself is a magical castle, and so everything's a bit odd here. Your mother acted exactly the same way. She was a muggle-born you know?"

Harry turned back to Hagrid when the words registered. "What's a muggle-born, sir?"

Hagrid looked flustered. "Oh ye need not call me that, Harry. Just Hagrid will do. And a muggle-born is someone who grew up in a family without magic. Yer mom didn't know anything about the Wizarding World either until she received her letter. There are several like her in every year."

He continued chattering about Harry's parents when they were students, and different rooms in the castle. All the while, Granny Weatherwax was taking his measure. She saw in Hagrid the same gentleness she often saw in Jason Ogg, the Lancre blacksmith and Nanny Ogg's son. They were both strong men who learned how to curb their strength and use it well. He _was _a little subservient to the headmaster, but she thought it was mostly out of respect.

She gently interrupted his tale about a strange game called Quidditch, "Perhaps you can give Harry the tour while I speak to this Professor McGonagall, Hagrid. I have several questions to ask him."

"_Her_, madam. Perfessor McGonagall is a woman. She's the Deputy Headmistress, and the perfessor in Transfigurations, and the Head of Gryffindor."

Granny raised an eyebrow. "A busy woman, indeed. Do you know where she is right now?"

Hagrid nodded, and led them to an office on the same floor. He introduced Granny to a tall woman with a stern face who greeted her with a certain coldness, and yet seemed to soften when she saw Harry.

"I would like to know more about what you teach your students here, Professor," Granny said.

Minerva McGonagall inclined her head and offered her a seat.

"Now, go on, Harry. Keep close to Hagrid," Granny called out to two before focusing on the other woman sitting behind her desk. She seemed to be someone who would not lie to her. Perhaps she will finally find answers to her questions.

Minerva was burning with curiosity as soon as she recognized James Potter's son. But she turned her steady gaze onto this woman. She seemed to know what Minerva needed to ask. Perhaps she held the answers to her questions.

Neither noticed how eerily similar their expressions were.

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"The wand's just nonsense. Something's wrong with the way those children are taught. But—"

"But?" Harry asked, sitting on his rickety chair back in Mistress Aching's cottage. They were discussing his fate. He wanted to contribute his opinion, but he didn't really have any. He didn't know what he wanted, even after seeing Hogwarts, or reading the books he had bought about it.

"But you belong there my boy. There's no question. You need to learn _their_ ways, even if you never use them."

Both Tiffany and Harry nodded. Knowledge was a weapon in any craft. It was a lesson that Mistress Aching taught him well.

"But I'm still worried about what you saw in that ruined house, Granny," Tiffany added. "Harry seems to have enemies there, powerful ones," she looked sternly at a saucer on the floor. "Perhaps you would do well with a protector or two."

By the time all the saucers were emptied, it has been decided that Rob's sons, Killem All and Hobble would accompany Harry to Hogwarts. Their situation was actually an ongoing problem with the Nac mac Feegles who thought the two pictsies were too bookish, for their kind anyway. They had taken to Jeannie's reading lessons like a typical Nac mac Feegle took to drink.

Harry immediately relaxed upon hearing of the decision. He knew them both well, since they practically learned to read side by side and they had often been his childhood companions. Perhaps it wouldn't be that bad to leave an entire world behind, as long as he took part of it with him. And this was before he received the Gifts.

Granny never approved of the tradition of fairies arriving at christenings to give Gifts to babies. Of course, she had done it herself. But that was different because that was _her_.

_This_ was different, too. Harry was eleven now, and going off to school. And the Gifts were plain objects in wrapped carefully in paper, and not Beauty or A Good Singing Voice and other useless things. Of course, even under the paper _hers_ wasn't much of a surprise. The shape gave it away immediately.

"I had the dwarves make it special," she muttered when Harry smiled up at her. "Not as fancy as yon broomsticks from your world. But it'll get you where you want to go."

"Thanks, Granny."

Magrat had sent him a witch's diary, covered in leather with an occult symbol on the cover. Tiffany had scoffed at it, but grudgingly admitted that it could be handy. "As long as you really use it." Her own was a bit less practical: a piece of flint hanging on a leather cord. "A reminder to be hard and sharp and useful." And she packed him some cheese.

Rob Anybody gave him more gold. And Nanny Ogg's strange box turned out to contain one of Greebo's kittens. "His name's Garbo. Isn't he a darling?" She beamed at Harry who nodded weakly, while the kitten hissed up at him. It eyed the wee free men in the room, but was wise enough to avoid them. It settled on shredding a piece of wrapping with its sharp claws. Harry winced.

Then it was finally the first of September and both Tiffany and Granny accompanied him to a building, where another doorway masquerading as a wall led to the ruckus of children bearing trunks and cages full of owls and cats.

Harry stood at the doorway, trunks in hand, and met the eyes of the two black-clad women who had raised him. He swallowed back the tears. Neither of his guardians would care to see them fall.

Granny nodded in approval and Mistress Aching almost smiled. Harry carried that last image with him as the strange and noisy, long, metal contraption they called the Hogwarts Express sped away from the platform.


	4. Chapter 3

Title: The Puir Laddie Who Lived

Author: Fojee aka Punk Bandit

Chapter 3

"Potter, Harry," Minerva McGonagall called to the crowd of first-years left to be sorted.

Harry walked towards the chair in the middle of the room, and placed the tattered singing hat on top of his head. The audience waited. One in particular, Severus Snape, looked intently at the boy. _So James Potter's sprog had survived after all_. Old bitterness surged up his throat. He was sure that the boy would be as arrogant and as self-righteous as his father had been, a true Gryffindor by the likes of it. And yet the headmaster had told him that Harry Potter could still be the subject of that thrice-blasted prophecy. That means he needed to be looked after. Severus bared his teeth at the thought.

Meanwhile Harry's head was filled with a peculiar but polite voice. _Well you have quite an orderly mind for an eleven-year old, Mr. Potter. You would make an excellent student and would do particularly well in Ravenclaw. But what is this? Knowledge is important to you only because it is useful? Quite a ruckus you would cause in that house, then. Perhaps you would be more suited to—indeed I know the perfect place for one so hardworking and determined. _"Hufflepuff!"

Severus' eyes widened in surprise. He glanced around, and found Albus looking contemplative and Minerva looking puzzled. He also saw Professor Quirrell lean forward eagerly to look at the boy. Curious.

Harry settled in his seat at the Hufflepuff table, to the polite but open applause of his housemates. During the train ride, he had already heard people discuss the four Houses.

There seemed to be great rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin, for instance. He had seen several students wearing those colors insult each other, their hands clenching their wands in readiness to utter some spell until a couple of students who wore shiny badges on their robes stepped in.

From other overheard conversations, Ravenclaw was dismissed as a place for bookworms and know-it-alls, while he learned little of Hufflepuff. It seemed to be neither good nor bad. He thought it would suit him, and was pleased that the sorting hat agreed.

A girl from across the table leaned towards him and asked, "Hi. I'm Thea Marks. Are you a muggle-born too?"

Harry shook his head. "No, but I'm an orphan. And all this is new to me. Have you done magic before?"

"Oh yes," she beamed at him, "My parents couldn't believe their eyes when I made my hair stand up on end and change colors, and my clothes dance by themselves. My dad said I should work for movie companies, on special effects. I didn't want to go at first, but now I'm glad I did. This is brilliant, isn't it?" She waved her arms to the Great Hall, especially to the candles floating above their heads.

Harry could barely follow what she said, so he just nodded. "Yes I'm sure I'll enjoy it."

Around him, other Hufflepuffs were quietly getting to know each other. An older student with blond hair and green eyes wearing a shiny badge on his black robes and a yellow and black tie spoke loud enough to be heard by everyone at the table. "If you get in trouble, or find something difficult, just ask any of the older students all right? If they can't help you, they'll just tell you where to go. For the first few days, just stick together so you won't get lost. You all have the same classes anyway, so it will be easier. Keep an eye out for each other. Don't antagonize anyone, and you'll do fine."

The talk turned to warnings about the pranks of the Weasley twins, two identical red-haired third years from Gryffindor, about the Quidditch rivalries between Gryffindor and Slytherin and the rest of the Houses, about the mean teachers, especially Professor Snape, the Potions Master.

"He's mean and he's got a nasty temper, but if you just follow his instructions and read ahead then you'll do well. Always pay attention in class and hand in your homework on time. He becomes a bit nicer if he sees that you have some talent."

Harry just listened, his eyes darting from around the table to the others. He looked at the Headmaster, who raised a glass to him, and noticed a man with long hair almost obscuring his face. He was staring at Harry. And there was hatred in his eyes. Beside him, a pale man wearing a turban ate his food with concentration. But when he looked sideways, Harry's scar pulsed with sudden pain.

He ignored it, but remembered the man's face. _Why would he wear a turban? He doesn't look like a Klatchian._ Mistress Aching had told him about different kinds of people. Klatchians wore towels on their heads like this one did, but they were also dark-skinned, with long beards, and rode on camels.

Harry turned his attention on sneaking bits and pieces of food for Killem and Hobble in his pocket, and Garbo on the floor who hissed at ankles and chair legs, while keeping his ears peeled. After awhile, Killem climbed to his shoulder and whispered in his ear. Harry nodded, then watched as they both scampered down, and disappeared.

Spying was not really something that wee free men did. They were too straightforward for that, preferring to use their heads for head-butting and their ability to disappear for stealing. But Harry trusted Killem and Hobble to know what they were doing. And he felt like he was walking blind in this. He needed all the information they could get.

Snape frowned when he saw Harry Potter nod for no apparent reason. And was there some small blue thing that dashed down his shoulder? He blinked before dismissing it. So the brat was a Hufflepuff. He wondered what that meant about the headmaster's prophecy. He knew Albus and Minerva expected the child mentioned in it to be in Gryffindor. The other candidate, Neville Longbottom, might very well be the one fated to fight and defeat the Dark Lord.

Snape looked at the brown haired boy with soft cheeks and pudgy fingers that periodically dipped into the dessert bowl. He was firmly ensconced in the Gryffindor table beside yet another Weasley brat—the red of the hair was unmistakable. If he was the one…

_Merlin help us all._

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Professor Sprout was the Head of Hufflepuff, and Harry liked her immediately. Something about her, her earthiness perhaps or her motherly smile, reminded him of a more innocent Nanny Ogg. Herbology was their first class of the day, in a large greenhouse outside of the castle on the east side. The professor stood in front, surrounded by pots and trowels, plants and watering cans.

"Gardening may seem too ordinary for many of you. Indeed, your wands will not be needed here. But you still work with magic in caring for plants. Because magic," she waved her arms, "is in every plant and shrub and flower that surrounds you. It is in the very air you breathe. And it is alive. In this class, you will collaborate with the mysterious ways of magic, and not merely use it for a spell. Now, put on your gloves and I will introduce you to a few species of common magical plants."

Harry pulled on his gloves. He had always liked working with plants, more than milking cows and making cheese. He would have been surprised to know just how eager he looked, how bright his smile was.

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Wee free men were not used to solitude. They were born with hundreds of brothers, and would live all their lives surrounded by their clan. Hobble was glad that Killem was with him. Exploring and adventuring was more fun with a companion. And they had been close since childhood.

Before they left home, their father Rob Anybody had talked to them about keeping an eye out for dangers, but only interfering when Harry asked for their help. He was going to be a wizard, powerful like the hag, and would not appreciate their mucking about. That meant they needed to find their own entertainments.

They found the kitchen entrance behind the picture of the ticklish fruits the day after they arrived. Wee free men were good with doors.

Upon entering, the two-foot creatures with green skin, wearing what looked like tea towels and bustling around large, steaming cauldrons, all stopped what they were doing and peered curiously at the two of them.

Hobble tried to disappear, but they still stared so he figured it hadn't worked.

Killem cleared his throat, "Greetings, small bigjobs! We are the wee free men! What are you?"

The one standing nearest the portrait doorway, Nelly the house-elf looked down at the two six-inch high blue men with red hair and just squeaked.

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Severus Snape was in a foul mood.

He had swept into the potions room in his usual black cloaks, making little first years squeak in surprise. He had made his usual speech about the dark pleasures of potion-making. He had taken point after point from Gryffindors, particularly Neville Longbottom, and had terrorized the Hufflepuffs and insulted the Ravenclaws in one fell swoop. But _that boy_—

Harry Potter had looked at him calmly when he asked his impossible questions. And he answered them all. Not to mention the fact that he brewed the cure for boils that Severus had assigned to them _perfectly_.

He was not at all like James. And that just made him madder. He liked having his low expectations met. Hannah Abbott's cauldron exploded, singeing her eyebrows. The girl wailed. Potter immediately went to her side. _That's more like it._

"Potter, detention with me tonight at seven."

Harry looked up in surprise from examining Hannah's face. "For what, sir?"

_For looking like your bastard of a father_, Severus thought. "For abandoning your own potion in the middle of brewing. You are endangering others by leaving it unattended. Mr. Macmillan, escort Ms. Abbott to the infirmary. The rest of you, return to what you were doing." He glared at all of them while casting a stasis spell on Macmillan's cauldron.

Harry nodded slowly. "Yes, sir."

_That brat. How dare he look so reasonable!_

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"Why does the batty bigjob hate you so much then?" Killem asked Harry while he was finishing his homework. He wanted to get everything done before he went down to the dungeons for his detention with Professor Snape.

He shrugged at his six-inch high protectors. "I don't know. Someone from Ravenclaw told me that Professor Snape went to school with my parents. He might have hated either of them for something they did or did not do, but that's a stupid reason to hate their son, isn't it?"

Killem nodded thoughtfully. "Not always, laddie. He looks to be one to take his grudges and polish them with spit as t'years pass."

Hobble climbed on Harry's shoulder. "We could come w' yer tonight."

Harry just shook his head. "Thanks, but I think I should do this alone."

The two pictsies watched the by leave before looking at each other. Hobble finally spoke, "Ach, what do we do now?"

Killem nodded even more thoughtfully. "We could always visit that tower full of sleeping birds. Hamish taught me a trick or two."

They smiled.

The next morning, many people wondered at the bedraggled state of their owls as they received their post.

888

Harry tugged his robes close as he headed down to the dungeons. He didn't like it down there, and was once again glad that his bedroom had large windows facing Professor Sprout's greenhouse. The Hufflepuff Common Rooms were on the ground floor near the back of the castle. He knocked on Professor Snape's office door.

"Enter," a low voice called out.

Shivering half of cold and half of apprehension, Harry turned the knob, wishing for a second that he had brought Killem and Hobble with him. Having Nac mac Feegle at one's back does wonders for one's courage.

He tried to make his face as blank as possible when he met the older man's gaze. "Professor," he said, nodding politely.

Severus frowned as he noticed the boy suppress a shiver. "Cold, Mr. Potter?" He asked snidely.

Harry nodded, knowing immediately that the professor would not appreciate it if he lied. "Yes, sir," he murmured, and then spoke again after a beat. "What would you have me do, professor?"

Severus gritted his teeth. He gestured at the dirty cauldrons in the room. "You will clean every single one of them without magic by the end of the night. Start now," he said abruptly and strode out the door as if he couldn't bear to remain in the same room with him for one more second.

Harry was glad to be left alone. He peered closer at the dried mess coating the insides of the cauldrons, and grimaced a little. They would have been much easier to clean immediately after use. But as punishment, it wasn't too bad. He got out several washcloths from the cupboard beside the ingredients, and rummaged in it to look for a pail. He needed a lot of water to get everything done.

888

_I am weak, my servant. I need the stone. You will discover the traps the old fool had set. And you will dismantle them all, my loyal servant. When I regain my body, you will be well-rewarded. But for now, I need something else._

888

Albus sipped his tea, and carefully picked up the last lemon drop from his tin to place on his tongue. Distantly, he felt the movement of the castle above and below him, the dance of the staircases, the vibrations of the portraits, and even the flowing tides of the children's magic. Somewhere above his left shoulder, a stone pulsed with magic. Somewhere on his right, a man walked surrounded by a cloud of evil.

He wondered which child would be the one to defeat it. Perhaps he should invite Neville Longbottom to his office again, with a hint or two. The boy had _something_, but it wasn't sharp enough. Not yet.


	5. Chapter 4

Title: The Puir Laddie Who Lived

Author: Fojee aka Punk Bandit

Chapter 4

"What for, professor?"

Minerva's eyes widened. Harry's voice was as polite as always, without a tinge of mockery or careless disdain. He looked like he really wanted to know.

Still she could not prevent her voice from tightening in disapproval. "It is not your place to question, Mr. Potter, but to obey."

The boy's eyebrows drew together. "But transfiguring a teapot into a pigeon has no practical use, professor. And to create life, even for a moment, without an actual purpose is an insult to the use of magic."

Minerva's temple throbbed.

Harry ended up with another detention, this time with Hagrid in the Forbidden Forest.

888

Neville Longbottom, Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley were serving detention with Harry in the slightly damp darkness of the forest. He knew them only by sight, and was curious about how they had earned their detention.

He himself had not expected Professor McGonagall to give him one just for speaking. At the start of term, she had seemed to favor him, but she apparently did not like being questioned. She reminded him of Granny when her temper reached the boiling point: someone _not _to be crossed. Harry squared his shoulders, resolving to just do as he was told, even though he knew very well how much Granny would disapprove of the things they were taught.

Witchcraft did not start with magic, and would not end there. There were more important skills to learn, he knew from watching Mistress Aching. And yet in most of his classes, Harry had to practice countless spells to do things that could be done by hand. Wasteful, Granny Weatherwax would say.

Hagrid beamed down at him, ruffling his hair while Fangs lay at his feet growling. "Are ye all ready? We're going in two groups. Ron and Neville, you go with me while Draco and Harry take Fang. Remember, you gotta fill the baskets with fresh vervaine leaves for Perfesser Snape. If anything goes wrong, send up red sparks with yer wand, al'right?"

All four of them nodded. Harry slid up next to Draco, taking up Fang's lead with his hand. Draco picked up the basket sullenly.

"Did Professor Snape give you detention?" Harry asked as they began to walk deeper into the forest.

Draco looked like he wanted to ignore Harry, but finally couldn't resist replying. "No, McGonagall did. She caught three of us out after curfew last night. Professor Snape would never give _me_ a detention. I'm his favorite student!"

Harry smiled at his outraged tone. "Then I'm his least favorite. I'm Harry by the way, Harry Potter." He held out his hand to shake.

Draco seemed surprised for a second, but accepted the handshake. "Draco Malfoy. You're in Hufflepuff, aren't you?"

"Yes," Harry agreed, bending down beneath one tree to snip off a couple of vervaine leaves.

"Why?" Draco asked plaintively, as if he was completely bewildered. "Hufflepuff are just stodgy and boring do-gooders."

Harry smiled, not taking offense. He was used to dealing with people who had prickly tempers and sharp tongues. "Perhaps I am a stodgy, boring do-gooder. But you shouldn't believe everything people say about us. After all, Slytherin doesn't have much of a reputation, doesn't it?"

"We've always been misunderstood," Draco said airily.

Harry bit back a chuckle. "Of course. I'm sure not all your House mates are vicious and without honor, like some people say. But it is a pity that few students have friends from other Houses, isn't it? I'm sure having a friend from Slytherin would be useful. If you're willing?"

Draco fell silent at this, and Harry did not push for an answer, knowing that the other boy would try to discover his motivations first. Between the two of them, they managed to fill the basket almost to full, when they heard a faint but hysterical whinny off to Harry's right. Beside them, Fang began to howl.

Harry tried to soothe the dog until it fell quiet. Then he marched through the damp undergrowth towards the sound.

"What are you doing?" Draco asked breathlessly behind him, clutching the basket.

"Someone needs help. Perhaps you could send up the emergency signal," Harry looked at his frightened face and thrust Fang's lead at him. "Here, take Fang. I'll be back."

He ignored the look of panic on Draco's face and walked until he could see something that gleamed under the light of the moon: a _unicorn_ lying on the ground. Granny had taught him to be wary of unicorns. But someone's dark shadow lay across it while it whinnied and thrashed, obviously terrified and in pain.

"Stop!" Harry cried out, his hand reaching for a branch on the ground, instinctively looking for a weapon. The shadow unbent awkwardly. It looked queer, like someone facing the wrong way.

"_You!" _Someone screeched at him. Harry threw the branch, his magic instinctively twisting it to a sharpened point, but the shadow had held out a hand towards him and in a flash, disintegrated the makeshift spear. "_I'll be back for you, brat!"_ It whispered in a hoarse voice before melting into the other shadows in the spaces of the trees.

Harry just hurried to the lying unicorn. There was a wound on its white neck, from which blood gushed. But there wasn't enough of it. _Was that a vampire?_ Harry shivered, knowing from Nanny Ogg's stories how difficult vampires were to kill. Of course, she also told a few choice stories about the utter ruthlessness of unicorns, but this one seemed harmless. It looked at him with gentle eyes as if trying to beg for help. He remembered his wand and sent up red sparks until Hagrid had reached his side.

"Wot happened? Oh dear Merlin, the poor thing!" Hagrid bent over the unicorn and tried to stem the flow of blood.

"Is there a spell to stop it from bleeding?" Harry asked him urgently.

Hagrid nodded and absentmindedly taught it to him as well as a blood-replenishing charm, which Harry performed flawlessly. Behind him, he could hear gasps from Neville, Ron and Draco, but he ignored them all. The unicorn was looking better anyway. And even injured it felt… _pure_. Quite unlike the wild beast that Nanny Ogg described. _That might have been the drink talking then._ Harry snorted. He liked the maternal witch well enough, but disapproved of her habits.

"Is it going to be alright now?" He asked, surprised at how weary he sounded.

Hagrid ruffled his hair, which unfortunately still had unicorn blood in it. "She's going ter be fine, me lad. That's quick thinkin' on yer part. Good on you. Now, why don't you all go back to the castle so I can make sure this darlin' gets well quickly." He led the unicorn to his hut, making it lie down in a smelly blanket outside, before shooing them up the castle. "You go on to yer rooms now. And Harry, why don't you stay awhile and lemme give yer some tea. You look wiped out, m'boy!"

Harry was glad to obey. He spared a wan smile at the three other students before going inside Hagrid's hut. Draco had nodded at him solemnly, and Neville waved weakly.

Hagrid bussed around the kitchen for his tea things, and placed a cup in front of Harry. "Now, I think you better tell me everythin'." He looked at Harry queerly. "Oh, and wash that blood off your hair. It's alright as long as you don't drink it."

Harry's eyes widened. "Why? What happens if you drink unicorn blood?"

Hagrid looked at him solemnly. "You gain strength from it, but ye end up cursed with a half-life of sorts. To take blood from an innocent, it's a terrible, terrible thing. And ye won't be allowed to forget it."

Harry shivered.

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When Killem and Hobble heard about his adventure, they spat and cursed in a blue streak, as blue as their tattooed skins. "We won't let yer outta our sights now, m'laddie. The castle isn't safe after all. Not if there're unicorns and vampires nearby."

"Hagrid said unicorns are the gentlest of creatures. Maybe the ones from our world are of a different breed. As for that shadow, I don't think it's a vampire," Harry said slowly. "The unicorn had no bite marks. Whoever it was, they used a knife to cut its flank."

"Ach, it still means trubble," Hobble chimed.

Harry agreed. So the two wee free men would sit on his shoulders or nap inside his pockets all day long, leaving only to "get a spot o' drink" from the kitchens or to pick a fight. None of the teachers noticed, although Professor McGonagall grew restless in class without knowing why, and Harry had to restrain the two from hurting Professor Snape in Potions.

Another consequence of his little adventure was that he tried to look up something called medi-magic in the libraries. There were several books from the collection of a famous Spanish-Filipino medi-wizard Jose Protacio Rizal, but they seemed too far advanced for a first year to learn. Harry could not make heads or tails of the long words used. They weren't in the dictionary, not even the large one in its own stand by the librarian's desk. Perhaps there was something wrong with the translation spell, or the medi-wizard was talking to others of his kind and assumed they knew certain things already. But there was no beginner's primer available at the library.

After he asked her, Madame Pince told him to talk to the school nurse, Madame Pomfrey in the infirmary. "It is better to study medi-magic under supervision," she looked at him sternly, "because if you make a mistake, there's someone at hand to correct it." She didn't say anything about Harry's interest or his age.

Neither had Madame Pomfrey. Under her tutelage and on his free time, he learned spells to diagnose diseases, heal wounds and cure illnesses. It was the only time Harry started to appreciate his wand, which seemed to hum contentedly whenever it was used. He spared a guilty thought to what Granny Weatherwax would say about wasting magic on small wounds that could heal on its own, but he felt that even the small spells were useful to know. What if a baby was wounded? Or a small animal? They could be as useful as the big spells he had used on the injured unicorn.

Madame Pomfrey was pleased to have such a young diligent student. Anyone else and she would be suspicious, but Hagrid had told everyone at dinner one night about the unicorn in the Forbidden Forest, and about the small boy who kept his head and probably saved the creature's life.

Poppy had heard the story second-hand from Pomona, who had proudly given Harry thirty points and had gone to her to talk about the boy with the natural talent in healing. Such witches and wizards were rare these days. Mediwizardry was a difficult field to enter and many opted for easier jobs that did not require a lot of specialized study. Often, St. Mungo's had to offer scholarships to witches and wizards from other countries just to get them to work in Britain. Thirty percent of the staff was Indian or Asian in origin, and the numbers were growing.

She told Harry to practice the spells only while he was at the infirmary, and lent him two books from her own collection: an introduction to the different branches of mediwizardry and a book about the body parts of humans, creatures, and other magical beings. Harry had loved the comprehensive and detailed illustrations on the latter, and had smiled delightedly at her. "Thanks, madame."

Because he was so busy with his new studies, Harry didn't feel so worried about the shadow that had drunk the unicorn's blood. Other people worried for him. One of them was Severus Snape.

He had shared his suspicions to the headmaster and demanded that he use a potion to check every student and teacher in the castle. Unicorn blood, after all, has a particular effect when used that lingers. But Albus had just _twinkled_ at him and told him it was unnecessary. If he didn't know any better, he would suspect the old man of deliberately endangering his students. Severus frowned. He would have to keep an eye on the brat himself. Or perhaps try some _unwarranted_ testing. It wasn't as invasive as legilimancy, after all.

While he was compiling the ingredients for the test potion, Severus Snape took a closer look at Mr. Potter. The boy really did take after his thrice-bedamned father, but it ended there. He walked and talked differently; he was never loud or boastful, and had a quiet dignity that not even his seven year students possess. He had a strange habit of talking to himself, which just made Severus raise his eyebrows. He had several acquaintances in different houses, including Neville Longbottom and Draco Malfoy. And yet he did not seem overly friendly with anyone. He kept his own counsel. He ate food quietly, preferring simple dishes that the house-elves had made. He always did his work well and always accepted punishment without question.

Severus collected tidbits of information like puzzle pieces but could not arrange them to form a picture. So one afternoon, he knocked on Minerva's office door, intent on discovering all he could about the enigma of Harry Potter.

"Come in," Minerva answered.

Severus opened the door. Minerva's office was spare but cozy, with a tartan rug under the desk and a shelf lines with books behind it. A single window, with an arch, showed the Quidditch pitch outside. Severus sat down after the woman opposite him gestured at the chair with her hand.

"Was there something you needed, Severus?" Minerva flashed him a puzzled smile.

"Things have been—escalating here in the castle, Minerva. I've tried to share my concerns with the headmaster but you know how he is," Severus rolled his eyes. He was rarely as informal as when alone in the presence of his former professor. After all, Minerva McGonagall knew him since he was eleven years old.

Minerva folded her hands above the desk. "The headmaster is as ineffable as always. But what do you plan on doing about it?"

Severus leaned forward. "I think the headmaster is complacent because he has several _plans _in mind." He waited until Minerva had thought about it before asking, "Tell me what you think of Neville Longbottom and Harry Potter?"

She raised both eyebrows. "I see you are referring to the prophecy spouted by that _charlatan_ residing in the tower. Do you really believe there is any truth in her words, Severus?"

"Not really, no," he replied. "But I do know that both the headmaster and the Dark Lord believe it. And that's why I need your opinion of our two first years."

Minerva sat back and thought for a while before speaking. "Well Mr. Longbottom is having trouble in many of his classes and not just your exploding cauldrons. Pomona Sprout, however, told me he shows promise in her subject." Severus scoffed at this, but held his tongue at his colleague's look of warning. "He seems to have become friends with Ms. Hermione Granger, who attempts to help him through his classes."

"More like doing his work for him," Severus interjected with a frown. "He certainly doesn't fit anyone's idea of a _hero_." The word was injected with a certain amount of bitterness. "It's a wonder he ended up in Gryffindor."

Minerva looked at him sharply as if to assess whether he had insulted her House yet again. When he looked back blankly, she continued. "I suppose that's true. Or the sorting hat saw something in him that none of us can see as of yet. As for Mr. Potter, I think I'm much in the dark as you, Severus."

"You've heard about the unicorn, of course?" He asked, troubled.

"Yes. Hagrid is not the most close-mouthed of persons," she said with a touch of irony. "In class, Mr. Potter seems to display some strange ideas. Perhaps it came from wherever he grew up in."

"I suppose he was spoiled like his father?"

"I didn't have quite that impression, Sev. Did you know that his guardian demanded a tour of Hogwarts before allowing him to go?" Severus shook his head. Minerva recalled her meeting with Mistress Weatherwax, as she called herself. "She seemed a formidable and strict woman. I think nothing much got past her. And she did not show the boy any affection. I pestered the headmaster for more information about where Mr. Potter grew up, but Albus wouldn't tell me anything. He might have been abused for all we know."

Severus grimaced. "Albus only cares whether he will make a good weapon, Minerva."

She frowned. "Surely not? Albus cares for all his students!" Then she took a look at the bitterness in Severus' face and she clammed up.

"As you said, he is ineffable, so I suppose we may never really know." He sighed. "Then we agree that it's more likely Potter. He's already got a mark, and he _did_ save a unicorn's life."

Minerva slowly nodded. "And for all his strange beliefs, the boy _does_ perform excellently in my class. And there's a rumor going 'round in the faculty that Poppy's teaching him the basics of mediwizardry."

Severus' eyes widened. "Why would she do that?" 

"He volunteered, apparently."

Severus walked out of the room as troubled as when he entered. What kind of eleven-year old _volunteered_ for additional work?


	6. Chapter 5

Title: The Puir Laddie Who Lived

Author: Fojee aka Punk Bandit

Chapter 5

Wandering around at night, it was natural for Garbo to meet the illustrious Mrs. Norris. And being as it was that he took after his father, what happened next was something that may offend the readers' delicate sensibilities. Suffice to say, Argus Filch loathed the boy whose familiar had left his beloved cat with scratches all over her body. And he didn't change his mind even after Mrs. Norris had kittens.

888

"We found somethin' in yon rooms, 'arry, somethin' ye have need o' seeing," Killem declared one day after dinner.

"What is it?"

"A hiddlin," Hobble answered.

The two wee free men led Harry to an unused classroom on the fourth floor. Inside the room was a tall mirror on a stand. It was gilted in gold and had letters carved upon its frame. Erised. Desire. And indeed, the mirror showed him his heart's desire.

Harry watched as the cottage at the Chalk was shown, with Mistress Aching greeting him at the door with a smile. Behind her, Granny Weatherwax nodded in approval, her mouth twitching. And then the picture blurred and changed into the grounds at Hogwarts. Draco Malfoy stood and waved at him, before talking to him soundlessly, his face open, as if... as if they were good friends. The picture blurred yet again. This time, he was healing all sorts of creatures: lambs, unicorns, and even a baby in its mother's arms. He smiled. Even the mirror knows his indecision. He turned away from it, to see the two pictsies. They looked entranced.

"What do you see?" He asked them curiously.

Hobble answered first. "I see a big bottle of likker, and scunners to fight, and ships to steal."

"I saw 'em first!" Killem interjected.

Harry had to shush them before they stopped their threats. "The mirror shows you what you really want, that's all. You can't really get the liquor, or whatever else it shows you."

"We know," Killem said. "We tried going in, but it's no' a door."

"It could be," Hobble interrupted. "But there's non' inside now."

Harry sighed. "This place is full of secrets and surprises, isn't it?" He shuddered after remembering the shadow that had drank the unicorn's blood.

"Well, there's 'nother one," Hobble looked guilty for a second. "We found it ages ago, but we forgot."

"What?" Harry asked, as they walked back to his dorm room.

"There's somethin' on the third floor, a dog it is, with three 'eads!" Killem gestured wildly.

Hobble looked more sober. "We think the dog be guardin' something."

"Another hiddlin," Killem added.

"Yeah, this place is full of secrets," Harry said softly. "Sometimes, it makes me want to go home and churn butter with Mistress Aching."

"Aye. We all miss the hag." Hobble tried to pat Harry's head.

888

Halloween. In Lancre, few people celebrated Halloween. Granny Weatherwax didn't approve of children dressing up like her, then knocking on her door, demanding sweets. Of course, no one really dared knock on _her_ door, and most ended up in front of Nanny Ogg's house, and Nanny always had sweets around for her numerous grandchildren. None of them were in witches' garb, although some of the girls wore paper crowns and pretended they were Queen Magrat. Granny didn't know whether to be grateful or insulted.

At Hogwarts, Halloween meant extra servings, with a bowl of multi-flavored jelly beans and chocolate frogs on the table for dessert. Harry, feeling a tad adventurous, was just reaching for a blue colored bean when Professor Quirrell burst through the doors in the Great Hall. "Troll! There's a troll in the dungeons!" He exclaimed, before fainting on the stone floor.

The Heads of the four Houses immediately ordered the prefects to herd the children back into their dormitories. Harry had met a troll before, the one that had guarded the bridge near Lancre, and he didn't see what the big deal was. You could usually talk your way out of a head-on confrontation, and barring that, use magic to get it to go away. But he remembered the unicorn and decided trolls may be something completely different in this world. He was about to join the group of Hufflepuffs heading for their room, when Killem and Hobble jumped on his shoulders.

"The trollie's big an' slow but there's a little hag cryin' in the privy nearby," Killem told him. "Can we kill it?"

"The hag?" Harry asked, confused.

"No, the troll, you spavie," Hobble muttered into his other ear.

Harry sighed. "Well I suppose we _should_ save the little hag, whoever she is."

So he slipped past the others down into the dungeons towards the girls' privy near their potions classroom. He was in the corridors trying to follow the sounds of crying from around the next corner when he met face to face with the troll. He had expected it to be tall. Most trolls had to be to gain the necessary altitude for their brains to function. He had also expected it to look more like rock, maybe the igneous kind or the sedimentary, with layers on its skin. This creature however, had a face like doughy flesh mixed with gravel. And he did not expect the stench. It smelled like dried sweat magnified a hundred times.

It roared at him, waving its giant cudgel around. He felt the wee free men jump off his shoulders, scream their war cries and attack in blue blurs. He threw himself past it and towards the nearest door, where he flew into Hermione Granger's arms.

"Oof!" Harry's breath rushed out of him. They were both lying on the floor, face to face. He had time to notice the other girl's tear-streaked cheeks and red-rimmed eyes, before the door crashed open, and the troll entered. It was thrashing around, trying to get something off its back, as if swatting some errant flies. "Go hide in the stalls," Harry had time to scream into the girl's face, before he rolled over and reached for his wand. He had just gotten it out and pointed it at the troll's head when Killem dealt a blow directly to its head.

It toppled slowly to the ground just as several professors entered the doorway with wands drawn.

"Mr. Potter!" Professor McGonagall exclaimed, and then when she espied the other person in the bathroom, spluttered in shock, "Ms. Granger? What is the meaning of this?"

Harry lowered his wand, with an uneasy look at the troll. It started to snore. "It's ok, 'arry. Killem hit it good," Hobble whispered in his ear, before disappearing down his pocket.

"I'm waiting," Professor McGonagall said in a don't-dare-lie-to-me-young-man tone. She crossed her arms, while Professor Snape examined the troll's injuries.

"I…" Harry was at a complete loss for words. He looked at Hermione, who was still sniffling. Then he had an idea. "I heard someone talk about Ms. Granger. They said she went to the bathroom in the dungeons. So I thought I'd go and see if she was alright."

Hermione interrupted. "He saved my life, Professor. I hadn't heard about the troll, you see." She seemed to have calmed down, and looked more cowed than she usually did.

"What spell did you use?" Severus Snape asked with a raised eyebrow. "There doesn't seem to be any magical residue."

"Oh I didn't use any," Harry quickly replied. "The troll knocked itself out with its own cudgel."

The teachers looked like they didn't believe it, but Harry remained impassive until they shrugged and accepted him at his word. Professor Sprout awarded him five points for attempting to rescue a fellow student, although Snape had muttered, "He should be getting demerits for his foolhardiness, instead."

He smiled a little. Sometimes, it sounded as if beneath the vindictive words of the potions master, he actually cared about Harry's safety. The man was horribly unfair in class, but he also reminded Harry of the sharp tongue of Granny Weatherwax.

And he did agree with the professor's comments. It had been foolish of him to attempt to fight a creature he knew nothing about. Professor Quirrell had yet to cover it in class. They were too busy talking about amulets and charms of protection.

Harry was then asked to escort Hermione to the infirmary as she was still in a bit of shock and had some bruises from when Harry slammed into her. So he took a hold of her arm and led her away.

"So what was that all about?" Hermione immediately asked, as soon as they were out of earshot. "I could see something fight the troll. I thought it was a spell of sorts."

Harry looked at her quizzically. Her hair was still a mess, and her face was smudged with dirt and tears. But she looked back at him determinedly. He didn't know her very well, but she already had a reputation for a bloodthirsty curiosity that just wouldn't give up. He sighed and decided he might as well tell her.

"Thank you for not saying anything then. I guess I'd have to introduce you. The one on my right is Hobble. And the creature on my left is Killem All. They're brothers." The wee free men showed themselves, bowing theatrically at the stunned witch.

"What are they? And how did they manage to defeat the troll? They're six inches high, for crying out loud!" She blurted out, before covering her mouth in embarrassment.

Harry laughed a little. "They're what we call wee free men, from the clan Nac mac Feegles. They're like Scottish fairies." He had already noticed that Hagrid's Scottish accent and Professor McGonagall's soft burr was similar in tone to the pictsies' although they differed in dialect. "Don't underestimate them. They may be small, but they're very strong and fast. They were the ones who told me about you."

Hermione had recovered and curtsied to the two awkwardly. "Then I thank you for saving my life, Mr. Hobble and Mr. Killem All."

Hobble blushed which made him look purple. "Oh t'was nothing, wee hag. We hear't you cryin', is all." Killem snickered at his brother.

"So why were you crying anyway?" Harry asked, changing the topic.

Hermione looked embarrassed again. "I heard someone say something mean about me," she said in a low tone.

Harry could feel the two Nac mac Feegles about to declare their intentions to hurt that someone, so he shushed them. "What were they saying if you don't mind telling me?"

Hermione looked at the floor. "That I was a know-it-all, and I guess it's true."

"I did hear you always raise your hand in class, and always gets really high grades in the assignments," Harry began tentatively. "I suppose it could get annoying for people who aren't as interested in learning. You make them look like the lazy sots they are."

He was rewarded by a tremulous smile from the other girl. "I suppose. I _am_ interested in learning _everything_, but only because I'm a muggle-born and I don't know all those things the others take for granted, you know?"

Harry nodded. "I feel the same way. To really learn something, one must be passionate about it."

"But I have no friend," Hermione exclaimed bitterly. "Except when they need help with their homework, and then they come to me."

Harry smiled at her. "Well we're friends now, aren't we? And I'm sure not all of your Housemates share that opinion of you."

"Maybe," Hermione looked like she didn't believe it. "Anyway, thanks again for the rescue. And I promise your secret's safe with me." She waved goodbye as soon as they were at the door of the infirmary. Harry waved back, before walking away towards his own dorm room.

"I like her," Hobble declared. Killem sniggered. "Oh shut up."

888

At the next Defense against the Dark Arts class, Professor Quirrell was limping. It got so bad that he cancelled the session thirty minutes into a lecture about protective circles.

Harry wondered why he didn't just go to the infirmary. He would have cast a diagnosis spell on the other man, but the particular spell he knew glowed brilliantly and would have given him away. From what he could see of the professor's movements, it was a leg wound, or several wounds. And it was still bleeding. There was a line of blood soaked into his trouser legs.

Wounds like that could be treated immediately, or the blood could at least be spelled to clot. It would be easy to heal even for someone at his stage of training. Of course, if _he_ did it, there would be an unsightly scar. Madame Pomfrey, on the other hand, could do it without leaving much of a mark.

He wondered about it up until his potions class, and his diverted attention was immediately obvious to his professor.

"Mr. Potter, twenty points for dillydallying in my class," Professor Snape announced in a voice deceptively soft. "The potion will not brew itself. Attend!"

Harry was forced to focus on the brewing, even as his mind whirled a mile a minute. There was something he needed to remember, something that had bugged him about Professor Quirrell. He thought back to his first day at Hogwarts, at the feast… His scar! It had hurt when the professor had looked sideways, his turban swinging around. What did that mean?

Then he remembered the shadow at the Forbidden Forest and the awkward way it stood up from the ground after it drank unicorn's blood…

Harry shook his head. Even if it were true that there was something off about Professor Quirrell, who could he tell?

He handed the vial of his potion to Professor Snape while still deep in thought and only looked up when he felt a hand clamp down on his extended wrist.

"You are endangering the rest of the class with your absent-mindedness, Potter. Now, pray tell, what exactly is running through your insipid mind?"

Harry looked up into Professor Snape's dark eyes, and was surprised when he felt a stab of magic probing his thoughts. He tore his hand away as well as his eyes and made his excuses, leaving the dungeons at a run. Professor Snape knew headology! He didn't know whether to feel nostalgic or terrified.

Severus Snape watched Harry Potter run out of his classroom. The boy seemed to have sensed his legilimency attack, and his mind had a basic shield in place. _Does he know occlumency as well?_ Curiouser and curiouser.


	7. Chapter 6

Title: The Puir Laddie Who Lived

Author: Fojee aka Punk Bandit

Chapter 6

Several weeks later, someone tried to kill Harry Potter.

It started out as a sunny Saturday morning. Harry and Hermione were in the library, with the two wee free men sleeping on the table after a late night of three-headed dog-baiting. The sky was so crisp and blue that Harry found himself staring outside as far as he could see from the window, only just stopping when Hermione waved her hand in front of his face.

"What are you thinking, Harry? I was calling your name for five whole minutes," Hermione said, looking concerned.

Harry smiled and shook his head. He was only just getting used to Hermione's questions. She was either reading or talking about books or asking questions. He thought privately that there must be little silence inside her teeming head.

Nevertheless, she was easy to talk to, and the Mac nac Feegles adored her. Even Garbo adored her, and she adored him back. She had already asked for one of his kittens from a Gryffindor girl with a very pregnant cat.

"Sometimes I think a whole week could go by before you'd speak another word," Hermione complained teasingly.

Harry laughed softly. "I just learn more things by being silent and watching people, that's all. And I'm not really used to having a friend to talk to. Back home," he paused, his expression changing, "back home, there were only Hobble and the others, and Mistress Aching, and the sheep. People talked to me, but only because they needed listening to."

Hermione looked like she understood, so she let the silence fall and they both got back to their reading. But the window caught Harry's eye again, and he found himself standing up.

"I think I'll go for a walk," Harry whispered to Hermione. "It's too nice out to be cooped up here."

Hermione declined to go with him. So he woke Hobble up, leaving Killem to keep the other girl company. Hobble grumbled, but climbed up his robe to sit on his shoulder and lean against his neck.

He brought the book he was reading about mirror magic to the librarian's desk to be stamped by Madame Pince. He became interested in the subject after encountering the full-length mirror of Erised that his companions had discovered. Hermione had looked at the book curiously, but Harry found himself reluctant to talk about what he saw. He had a feeling the mirror was dangerous, and didn't want to involve his new friend.

After Madame Pince stamped the back of the book, using a large stamp pad that smelled like one of Professor Snape's potions, Harry headed downstairs to go to the field near the lake.

There were other students out there, lying on the grass, or dipping toes in the shallow area of the lake. There were students from all houses on brooms, zooming around and tagging each other in the air. It was less fierce than the Quidditch games that aroused everyone's House spirit. Harry smiled to see such easy camaraderie.

He picked a spot near some hedges to sit on, and took out his book. Granny Weatherwax had told him a story once about a wicked witch trapped between two mirrors, but she had not gone into detail, and her face had turned to stone at further prodding.

The book, called _Mirror, Mirror: The Many Uses of Silvered and Reflective Glass_ by a scholar named White Snowflake, talked about the possibilities of using mirrors to extend the reach of one's power, or to hide entire rooms, or to scry far away places. It didn't say anything about the dangers of being trapped, although if one could hide a room inside a mirror, then surely there was a way to trap a person inside it. Harry shuddered a little at the possibility.

He jumped when a hand descended heavily on his shoulder. From the other shoulder, Hobble jerked awake at the sudden movement.

"Ten points from Hufflepuff for taking a library book out of the school, Mr. Potter." It was Professor Snape, looking gleeful at having caught him unaware.

Harry frowned inwardly. The older man disturbed him greatly. He seemed to be always watching, waiting for him to make a mistake, and pouncing on him triumphantly when it happened. Sometimes, the professor seemed concerned, but mostly there was naked malice on his face. But it was not any of these that disconcerted him; it was the fact that he could not hide in the man's presence. Professor Snape always knew where he was, or what he was doing.

"I'm sorry, professor. I wasn't aware that it was against the rules," Harry murmured, tucking the book inside his bag, but not before catching the older man peek at its title with curiosity on his face.

"Ignorance is not an acceptable excuse, Mr. Potter," he said before stamping off.

That was when it happened.

Harry felt a sudden constriction around his throat. It didn't feel like when he swallowed something too big, or when he was near tears. It felt like hands—like claws—wrapped around his neck, choking the life out of him. It happened so fast, he could do little but cry out wordlessly, his nails scratching at his neck in terror.

The noise was enough to catch Severus Snape's attention. He whipped around, his black robe flapping noisily and with less grace than usual, and at the sight of Harry Potter thrashing on the ground, he rushed forward, one hand rushing to cradle the back of Potter's neck, the other reaching for his wand.

In mere seconds that seemed to last an eternity, he took in the sight of Harry Potter turning blue, and he caught the sudden appearance of a blue-colored creature beside Potter's head, jumping up and down in frustrated rage, and he looked around and caught sight of a shadowed face from a window, looking down at them. And then he had waved his wand and had spoken the counter-spell almost by instinct, and Potter was gulping in huge breaths, his head acquiescent in Snape's palm. The creature had disappeared, but he still felt its mostly benign presence.

Once he was able to stand, Harry refused to go to see Madame Pomfrey. "I'm fine, professor," he said firmly to the other man almost _hovering_ over him. "Thank you for saving my life."

Severus Snape looked furtive for a moment, before blurting out, "Consider us even."

Harry tilted his head in puzzlement. He opened his mouth to ask his professor to explain the enigmatic statement, but the older man interrupted him.

"Your father… He saved my life when I was young. Thus with this act, my life debt is paid," Severus spoke reluctantly.

It sounded to Harry like one of those formal speeches that the King of Lancre used to make, like it was part of a ritual, so instead of asking the questions that bubbled inside him, he nodded solemnly. "It is paid in full. Still, I thank you, professor." With that he dusted himself off, bowing deeply, and walked off with bag in tow. He muttered under his breath, "I guess now I have to research life debts, too."

Severus finely tuned ears caught the words, but he was so surprised that he just stood there, completely forgetting to ask about the tiny blue man that appeared and disappeared in the blink of an eye, or the fact that someone tried to _kill_ the boy, and he didn't even look concerned.

888

Harry Potter was deeply concerned. He wasn't scared, really. He was just… worried. So many things were going on in the castle that he didn't even know which mystery he should start focusing on. He felt like Hermione probably had at first seeing the library: completely, utterly overwhelmed.

The pace of his classes frustrated him. They seemed so slow compared to his progress on his own, or under Madame Pomfrey's tutelage. But then he remembered Mistress Aching's stories of her own apprenticeship under different witches, and forced himself to remain patient while Professor Flitwick supervised the rest of the class who somehow couldn't manage the simple Mobilicotis charm on the pebbles in front of them.

He spent the rest of the hour thinking about his attempted murder. He had _neglected_ to tell his guardians about it, to the Nac mac Feegle's intense and colorful disapproval. But then, they were more scared of Mistress Aching and Granny Weatherwax than they were of him.

There was really only one suspect that stood out in Harry's mind: Professor Quirinus Quirrell. _But it didn't make sense!_ _Why would the other man, who seemed totally scared of his own shadow, attempt to kill an eleven year old boy that he had never even met?_ In class, he had observed the professor but aside from even more convoluted and stuttering explanations of protection spells, there was little to observe.

And there was still Professor Snape's connection to his father that bugged at Harry. He should just ask the older man, he knew, but was reluctant to breach the unspoken truce between them. He had become less… overtly malicious in class, and was prone to staring at him, instead. _Probably trying that headology again_, he thought.

_If they really did hate each other, why had James—_he couldn't bring himself to say dad—_saved the professor's life? And what kind of danger was Professor Snape in that he needed saving? Are attempted murders so commonplace here at the castle?_

He shook his head to clear it of the questions just as the bell rung. It was his last class for the day. He shouldered his bag, waving at the other Hufflepuffs before heading to the library to meet Hermione as usual. He tugged his bag until it was in front, and he walked while absentmindedly shifting through his books, looking for the ones that were overdue.

Hobble materialized on his shoulder, looking the worse for wear. "Ach, ye 'ave t'go to the t'ree heided beastie right noooo!"

"What's the matter? Where's Killem?" Harry asked frantically, not even lowering his voice. Thea Marks, who was walking several feet behind him, looked at him strangely, but he couldn't spare her the attention.

Hobble just tugged him along, moving him several feet before Harry's own legs could respond. He left his bag in the corridor, turned around briefly to the bewildered Thea, and just had time to shout, "Tell Hermione in library… third floor corridor… sorry…," before he was out of sight.

888

It was very well to resolve to be friends with Harry Potter and it was another to actually follow through.

Draco Malfoy had been thinking a lot since that night in the Forbidden Forest, and he'd been watching the other boy, even acknowledging him with a nod if their eyes met. There were many advantages to pursuing a friendship with Harry Potter, the most extraordinary Hufflepuff he had ever bothered to notice. But he still couldn't bring himself to make the first move. It was… _demeaning_. _People should come to _me. _They should bow and scrape and…_ He let the thought fade, thinking of his father's so-called friends. He couldn't imagine the other boy fawning over him the way all those people had slobbered over his father. He wanted Harry to be his _friend_, not his lackey.

And now it was too late. Hermione Bloody Granger had moved in into his territory. These days, the two were often inseparable. Even though they belonged to different Houses, they were often seen together at the Hufflepuff table at meals, and in the library after classes.

Draco spotted her alone at a table in the library. He briefly considered sauntering over with an insult or two, but as much as he couldn't be Harry's friend anymore, he didn't want to be the other boy's enemy. So he settled for glaring at her malevolently behind a stack of books.

He was in a perfect position to eavesdrop when another mudblood girl from Hufflepuff rushed towards Granger and began to babble about Harry Potter saying something about the third floor corridor before leaving in a hurry. They had all heard about the Headmaster's strange rule against going there at the beginning of the year. What could it mean? Hermione looked indecisive, so Draco smiled smugly and stepped out from behind the shelves.

"So Harry's in trouble? Maybe I can help…"


	8. Chapter 7

Title: The Puir Laddie Who Lived

Author: Fojee aka Punk Bandit

Chapter 7

The "t'ree heided beastie" was knocked out beside what looked like a trap door by the time Harry Potter got there. Killem stood beside it, looking both proud and guilty. "I t'ink I hit it a leetle too haerd," he said shamefacedly.

Harry went closer cautiously, trying to examine the dog without waking it up. "It doesn't seem that bad," he announced after listening to its breathing. "What were you doing here, anyway?" He turned to them with raised eyebrows. "I thought I told you to stay near Professor Quirrell?"

Hobble and Killem both pointed at the trapdoor. "'E went doon there," they chimed. "The scunner used a reed t'sing the beastie to sleep, but it woke up as soon as 'e left. And I didn't know the way of gonnagling so I used my heid," Killem elaborated.

Harry frowned down at the trapdoor. Should he follow the turbaned man through it, even though Headmaster Dumbledore strictly forbade it? But then the old wizard always seemed to say one thing and mean another, so maybe he was _supposed_ to go down there after all.

He was saved from making a decision by Hobble and Killem hauling the trapdoor upward and jumping in the dark hole revealed in the floor. "They can tak' oour lives, but they cannae tak' oour troousers!" "There can only be one t'ousand!" They shouted their separate war cries as they jumped.

So Harry had no choice but to jump in after them. Sometimes he felt as if the two wee free men were _his_ charges instead of the other way around.

He prepared for a long, hard fall, but was surprised to land softly in the complete darkness of the room. He reached his box of matches automatically, but could not reach a wall to strike it against, and whatever he landed on seemed too smooth. Finally he remembered his wand, even while he heard loud thumps and looked around in alarm while the world _moved_ beneath him.

"Lumos" he spoke softly, breathing in relief as the tip of his wand glowed, casting dim light in the small space.

He was surrounded by foliage, masses of leaves and tendrils snaking around him. Somewhere nearby, Killem and Hobble seemed to be battling the branches with their swords and their heads, although the hacks and cracks didn't seem to phase the strange plant.

One creeper had slid across his chest before Harry finally recognized the plant to be Devil's Snare. He immediately turned the dim light on his wand into a large fireball to stop it from suffocating him. The two wee free men cheered him on even as they cursed at the plant and continued hacking. Harry felt a little sorry for it as its branches retreated from his fire frantically. But he knew the Devil's Snare was a hardy plant and would bounce back from such damage.

As soon as they jumped free of its chokehold, Harry turned the fireball back to a fairly bright Lumos. He headed down the sloped passageway with both pictsies on his shoulders, boasting about their prowess in battle.

"Shhh!" Harry held up a hand as he tried to make out the strange rustling that came from ahead. "It could be another enemy."

The two fell silent even as they advanced into a tall chamber filled with strange, gleaming birds fluttering about. Harry held his wand out ready, half-expecting the birds to swoop in and attack him, but they darted here and there in absolute chaos.

He spotted the door at the opposite end and ran through the room towards it. But when he tried the knob, it was locked and his Alohomora charm didn't work.

"Let us try," Hobble said before the two jumped down and broke the door with their heads. It swung open with a creak.

"We're verra good wi doors," Killem said proudly.

The next chamber was so dark that it seemed to swallow the Lumos that Harry's wand produced. As soon as he entered however, lights that seemed to have no source flooded the room. Harry gasped at what it revealed.

In front of him lay a huge chessboard, with tall, black chessmen made of stone facing away. From across the chamber, the white pieces stood; they had no faces and yet they seemed to stare back in anticipation. Slowly, one white statue inched forward two places.

"It's like Thud!" Harry exclaimed, having heard about the game between dwarves and trolls that had gained popularity in Ankh Morpork, which trickled upwards in Lancre slowly but surely. But he soon felt dismay; he didn't know the rules of this particular game. He knew it was called chess, and something like it existed back home in the Discworld, and he had heard that there were kings and queens in it, and even horses. But chess was played exclusively by aristocrats and assassins. So he had no idea how he could win it to reach the other side.

"Leave that t'us," Killem said.

Harry half expected them to direct the statues as if they were troops, but instead the Nac mac Feegle sped away in blue blurs and knocked down the tallest of the white chessmen: the king, judging by its crown.

There was a brief silence, before the chessmen inched sideways to let them pass.

Harry fought down the urge to apologize to them. He walked carefully past them towards another door. He pushed it open.

A disgusting smell filled his nostrils, making his eyes water and beyond the door, flat on the floor, a troll larger than the one that had attacked Hermione lay with what looked like a huge lump on its head.

He tiptoed past it and was almost to the door when the thumps registered. He turned back to see Hobble and Killem kicking the troll's head.

"Stop that." He had to resort to speaking in Mistress Aching's sheepherding tones to get the two wee free men to listen. "It's out cold, and it's just cruel to hurt it now."

Those two seemed so overexcited by living through an actual adventure after growing up hearing of their father and uncles' exploits, that they went after everything with an extra helping of glee.

He herded them through the next door, where a table stood with seven differently shaped bottles in a line. As soon as he stepped over the threshold, a purple fire sprang up behind him in the doorway, while black flames shot up in the doorway leading onward. They were trapped.

_Not even brute force will get us out of this one,_ Harry thought. Then he noticed a piece of parchment lying on the table. It read:

Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,

Two of us will help you, which ever you would find,

One among us seven will let you move ahead,

Another will transport the drinker back instead,

Two among our number hold only nettle wine,

Three of us are killers, waiting bidden in line.

Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore,

To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:

First, however slyly the poison tries to hide

You will always find some on nettle wine's left side;

Second, different are those who stand at either end,

But if you would move onward, neither is your friend;

Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,

Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;

Fourth, the second left and the second on the right

Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight.

Harry's brow furrowed in thought as he tried to piece together the badly rhymed riddle. He had just about decided which one was the potion for getting across, when Hobble dropped down and tilted one bottle directly into his mouth.

It held death.

"No!" Harry exclaimed, but cut himself short when Hobble just burped.

Killem scrambled down to join the taste testing, so Harry grabbed the smallest bottle just before the blue men started getting really pished.

It held only enough for one person, but Harry was reluctant to leave the two pictsies behind, so he made them drink a drop each, and the gulped down the rest of the bottle's contents. It was like liquid ice down his throat, making him shiver violently. Then he grabbed his two very drunk companions, shoved them down his pockets, and walked through the fire.

The other side was another door, and this time, Harry felt something like fear in his thudding heart as he turned the knob.

Professor Quirinus Quirrell stood in the middle of the room, in front of the Mirror of Erised. His back was to Harry, yet at the sight of him, the scar on his forehead pulsed with white-hot pain. Harry could not stop the gasp that escaped his lips. Quirrell turned around at the sound.

He smiled maliciously. "Harry Potter! So you made it after all. Well, that might very well serve our purposes, my Lord," he said, surprisingly stutter-free.

A muffled voice replied, "_Yesss. Show me the boy."_

Harry looked around but could not see its owner. Could he be invisible? But Quirrell slowly unwound his turban, all the while holding Harry immobile with his gaze.

"Come closer, boy," he whispered, even as he bared his head, and turned around.

A face peered back at him from Quirrell's head: a pair of slit eyes and a mouth that contorted in a parody of a smile. "_Harry Potter, my greatest enemy_," the mouth spoke in a sibilant hiss. "_See what you have reduced me to_."

"Who are you?" Harry asked bravely, even as he gripped his wand tightly. It felt suddenly useless in his hand. None of the lessons he had learned could help him here and he knew it.

"_I am Lord Voldemort_," the snake-like man said. "_I killed your parents while you watched, Harry Potter. I would have killed you, too._"

Harry gulped. So this was the Dark Lord. "What do you want from me?"

Quirrell turned to face him, stepping closer. "It's simple really, my boy. Just step in front of this mirror and tell us what you see."

But Harry could not move his feet. Quirrell had to haul him closer by his robes. "Do it, or I will decorate this room with your blood," he hissed in Harry's ear.

Harry's eyes turned unwillingly towards the mirror. His own face stared back, but Quirrell was not reflected.

"Tell me what you see, boy," Quirrell said, shaking his arm hard.

"Nothing," Harry said carefully. "Maybe if you tell me what I'm supposed to see…" His mind whirled. The mirror felt different and yet familiar. It felt… like that doorway in the tree did.

"The stone! I know Dumbledore placed it in the mirror, but I don't know how to get it out." Quirrell scrabbled uselessly at the glass. "I can see myself using it to cure you, master. And I can see the hoard of gold we will have. But how can I get it?" He raged.

Hobble peeked out from his shirt pocket. "Ach, crivens! Go through the mirror, laddie. I'll beat that scunner in the heid," he said, half-slurred. Killem also wobbled out, making hic noises and waving his sword over his swaying head.

Quirrell blinked at them in surprise. Harry took the chance to jump in. The surface of the mirror shimmered, and he passed through it as if through water. Beyond it, there was another room, and on the opposite wall hung another mirror, this time saying Desire the correct way. A stone lay on a dais in the middle, and it pulsed as if in greeting.

Harry stood between the two mirrors and felt power rush through him as he watched a long line of his reflections stare at him. He felt an overwhelming desire to reach for the stone, knowing instinctively that it held great power.

Outside, Voldemort hissed out in frustration as the two blue creatures ran around Quirrell in circles. With a cry, he wrenched himself from his host, and followed after the Potter brat through the mirror.

Inside, Harry's hand hovered over the stone.

Outside, Quirrell blasted curse after curse at the tiny blue blurs that darted here and there, shouting little cries, "Nae king, nae quin, nae laird."

Inside, Voldemort instantly felt stronger, his body solidifying as the power reflected back upon himself. He reached with one claw for the boy, intent on murder.

Outside, a stray blast shattered the Mirror of Erised into a million pieces.

Inside, both Harry and Voldemort turned as the mirrors _curved_ around them, and then multiplying, until it was a room full of mirrors still multiplying upon itself. Hundreds of Harries and Voldemorts stared back at them.

Outside, Quirrell fell on his knees in horror.

Inside, the stone in the middle winked out. The two combatants stared at each other.

Outside, Severus Snape rushed in, wand held out in front of him.

Inside, Harry ran through the mirrors, his heart thudding. The power rushed through him, raising the hairs on his arms. He tried to think.

Outside, Snape stunned Quirrell even as he watched two six-inch high, blue covered men jump on the other man's head. He bound the man tight with another spell.

Inside, Voldemort smiled down at his new body. A million other Voldemorts smiled back.

Outside, Snape watched the shards of glass, terrified, as they showed Harry Potter running past himself, and a million other selves.

Inside, Harry finally stopped, wheezing for breath. He tried to get his mind under control, pushing the power away as mere distractions. But still it came, crowding all his senses.

Outside, Hobble and Killem jumped through the shards and disappeared.

Inside, Voldemort laughed and laughed. He didn't need the stone anymore.

Outside, Snape cursed in frustration as he tried to piece together the shards.

Inside, Hobble and Killem shouted at the Harries reflected back at them. "Quick, who's real, laddie?"

Harry slid down against one mirror. Was he hearing voices? "I am, I'm real. I'm real," he chanted. He closed his eyes, pushing away the other Harries that tried to get inside him. He gripped the wand forgotten in his hand, feeling it bite into his palm. "I'm real."

He faced the intense pressure inside his head. It was false power, bent in upon itself and therefore useless. It wasn't real. The real world was out there.

He felt himself slide out the mirror he was leaning against. He half-heard Hobble and Killem jump out after him before he lost consciousness.

Snape gasped as the glass quivered and slammed together once, expelling the body of Harry Potter and the two blue creatures before it fell and shattered into even tinier pieces.

He gathered the limp body, brushing off flecks of glass gently from the boy's hair and clothes, and stood up.

"So kindly explain what you are, exactly?" He addressed the two creatures who gazed back at him in curiosity from the floor.

"We're the wee free men. The boy's ours to protect, so you better not 'urt 'im," they announced.

Because Snape still looked blank, Hobble sighed and elaborated.

"We're fairies."

Severus Snape almost dropped Harry.


	9. Chapter 8

Title: The Puir Laddie Who Lived

Author: Fojee aka Punk Bandit

Chapter 8

Harry woke up in the infirmary. Hermione and Draco sat beside him, but they did not notice he was conscious. They were too busy arguing with each other in loud voices.

"Children! That is enough! You'll wake Harry up if you don't keep it down," Madame Pomfrey shushed them.

"Too late," Harry whispered.

"Harry!" The two gasped out in surprise. "We were so worried," Hermione threw herself into the other boy's arms.

Draco snorted, smoothing his robes automatically. "Next time you go on adventures, I demand that you take me with you," he announced.

Harry just smiled at him even as he patted Hermione on the back. "Thea told you, right? It was a good thing you weren't there, or you would have gotten hurt same as me. Though both of you could have helped greatly through the other traps. I didn't even know how to play chess."

Draco smiled down at him unguardedly. "I'll teach you," he said in impulse.

"Now, now, enough of that," Madame Pomfrey stood with her arms akimbo. "Harry needs to take some medicine, so run along you two. You can visit him tomorrow."

Hermione sniffled a little, before waving goodbye. "I still have some homework."

Draco stayed behind. He hesitated before clasping Harry on the shoulder. "Get better soon, ok?"

Harry nodded, "Um, how did I get out of there, anyway? Do you know?"

"We told Professor Snape where you went. He came for you."

"Oh," Harry tried to comprehend. "Thanks, Draco. You're a good friend."

Draco shrugged off his gratitude although he looked pleased. "I'll see you."

Harry watched them leave, before the mediwitch demanded his attention. "I didn't teach you healing just so you could get into trouble, young man."

He smiled sheepishly at her. "Sorry. Won't happen again," he mumbled.

"It better not," Pomfrey ruffled his hair. "Now open up; this tastes like hippogriff piss."

888

"I owe you a Life Debt, sir." Harry Potter spoke from outside the other man's quarters.

Severus Snape stared down at the boy impassively. "And don't think I won't collect, Mr. Potter."

Harry nodded solemnly. "If I can, you may ask what you wish of me."

Snape was silent for a moment. "For now, I'd rather ask you all about those two companions of yours. And the world they claim they come from." Hobble and Killem All were sleeping off their drunken adventure in his rooms.

"I," Harry hesitated, "I would also like some questioned answered, in regards to my father, and to Lord Voldemort. If you would oblige, sir."

Severus Snape held open the door and beckoned him in. "I may, if you ask politely enough."

888

Aside from fifty points to Hufflepuff for Harry's bravery, Albus Dumbledore did not acknowledge what had happened. Professor Quirrell was merely taken away by Aurors, and a temporary replacement found. The shards of the mirror was incinerated then swept up under a rug with a powerful Notice-Me-Not spell.

Harry researched the stone he had seen, and discovered it to be the Philosopher's Stone, said to give countless riches and immortality to its bearer. It had last been in the possession of one Nicholas Flamel before it disappeared. Rumors about it abounded. One book hinted that it had been destroyed by goblins after it threatened the economy of the Wizarding World thirty years ago. Others said that it had gained sentience, and hid itself rather than be used for evil. Nobody could say where it was.

The rest of the year passed by almost uneventfully. Almost.

Just before the end of term, Harry got another detention when Garbo managed to sneak into the Owlery and ruffle feathers, so to speak. He also terrorized other people's familiars. The population of kittens in all of Hogwarts had tripled since he had arrived, and the headmaster had already received several complaints from the other students and Argus Filch. So he ordered Harry to report to Hagrid with the cat in tow, for a little operation.

Good thing Hagrid was so strong. Even so, he sustained several long scratches on his face and arms before he finally got it done. Now Garbo, deprived of his usual extracurricular activities, had taken up a new hobby to fill his time: rat-hunting.

"Squeak?" Peter Pettigrew looked around in bewilderment. Where did that cat go? One moment it was grabbing him and the next... Then from the shadows of the Gryffindor common room, something wearing a black cowl approached him. It was carrying a small scythe in its _bony_ paw.

"SQUEAK."

Ron Weasley declared eternal hatred for Harry Potter after his beloved familiar, Scabbers, was found dead on the floor of his common room, with a distinctive scratch across its neck.

Then several minutes later, the body had changed into a chubby blond man with a missing hand. Twenty-four hours later, Sirius Black was exonerated and freed from Azkaban.

888

"I'm your godfather, Harry," the thin, pale man with slightly crazy eyes declared. "Your father was my best friend."

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He had been called to the headmaster's office, apparently to meet this stranger who claimed to have watched over him as a baby. The headmaster told him about the secret-keeper switch that had cost both his parents' lives and nearly his own.

"It's all my fault, Harry. I understand if you'll never forgive me." Harry was once again subjected to that piercing stare.

He slowly answered. "Oh but it seems you have already paid ten years of your life for something you have unwittingly done, sir. I would not dream of blaming you for such a mistake."

Sirius Black threw himself into Harry's arms and sobbed into his shoulder, much to the boy's discomfort. After he had calmed down, the older man cleared his throat. "I don't know about your current situation, Harry. But I would love it if you would come to live with me. I'd love to have the chance to make it up to you."

Harry smiled politely. "Thank you for the offer, sir. But I'm afraid I must decline it. I already have a home." He stuttered a little on the last word. Harry didn't know yet whether he should stay in Wizarding Britain or return to the Chalk after all this. He found he did not really belong in either world, at least not yet. His doubts must have shown on his face, because Sirius pressed once more for him to stay with the older man.

"I've quite an inheritance, so you won't lack for anything. And we'd have fun, Harry. I'll teach you Quidditch..." He went on and on, trying to sweeten the deal.

"Thank you sir, but no," Harry replied more firmly. He didn't know which world he'll end up choosing, but living with this man was not an option. He was definitely not going anywhere with a man who looked like a serial killer. No matter that he was deemed innocent by the Wizarding Courts.

Besides, he had heard all about Sirius Black's exploits from Professor Snape, and he wasn't impressed by the man's flamboyant charm.

Albus Dumbledore rubbed his hands and wracked his brain for something to say. He found he didn't quite know what to think.

888

The Death of rats entered the study, climbing up the table before squeaking in front of the cloaked man.

"IS IT?" A silken voice asked. The cloaked man stood up and walked towards another room filled floor to ceiling with hourglasses. "Yes, I think I remember that one." A very slim hand reached for one hourglass in particular. The sand in it was floating in suspension. "AH, IT'S ABOUT TIME."

888

Voldemort was still laughing, when someone appeared behind him. The mirrors did not reflect its black cloak, or the scythe that it held.

"TOM MALVORO RIDDLE?"

Voldemort turned.

A quick slash with the scythe, and the mirrors emptied themselves.

In another world, the sand in one hourglass finally fell prey to gravity, and it drained itself within seconds.

Epilogue

In a galaxy far, far away, a gigantic turtle floated in space with a strange gleam in her eye. On her back, four elephants stood, their trunks lazily swishing. They held immobile the flat, circular tabletop that is the Discworld.

We spiral down towards a little house in what is called Land Under Wave, where a young boy of twelve (Having finally learned his birthdate, he recently celebrated it with a rather rowdy party involving a case of sheep liniment and hundreds of drunk pictsies.) was looking up at the sky. He didn't admit it to himself, but he was waiting for one particular delivery.

"He's going, isn't he?" Granny Weatherwax asked over tea as soon as the pleasantries had been bludgeoned to death by her bluntness.

Tiffany Aching reluctantly nodded. "The boy's future is tied to that world. He may not be what that insufferable Dumbledee expects him to be, but he will reach his full potential only when he is surrounded by his own kind." She smiled a little more brightly. "Besides, he'd made some friends."

They both looked out the window as they heard Harry's uncharacteristic whoop of joy. The wingflaps that accompanied it signaled the arrival of the transdimensional owl.

"They both brought me presents," Harry said in embarrassment as he entered and caught the amused looks of the two witches. He was laden with boxes in brightly colored paper whose decorations seemed to move and change colors. "They remembered," he said almost reverently. "Hermione and Draco remembered."

Finit.


End file.
